Profile for foxbean:
Constantly amazed by just how funny and smart everyday people really are. Real experiences and observations are always streets ahead of the so-called humour that TV rams down our throats. b3ta is where I go when I absolutely need to laugh out fucking loud. Which is increasingly often.
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Constantly amazed by just how funny and smart everyday people really are. Real experiences and observations are always streets ahead of the so-called humour that TV rams down our throats. b3ta is where I go when I absolutely need to laugh out fucking loud. Which is increasingly often.
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Pubs
Silly little bugger
As the oldest looking in my 14-year old group, I was elected to try and get served in a town-centre pub. If it worked, the others would come in and try their luck.
I stood up straight and strode to the bar, worldly and confident, deepening my voice to order a "Whiskey and Scotch please!"
(Fri 6th Feb 2009, 0:01, More)
Silly little bugger
As the oldest looking in my 14-year old group, I was elected to try and get served in a town-centre pub. If it worked, the others would come in and try their luck.
I stood up straight and strode to the bar, worldly and confident, deepening my voice to order a "Whiskey and Scotch please!"
(Fri 6th Feb 2009, 0:01, More)
» Customers from Hell
The day I realised I could kill.
I did some contract work in Algeria few years back. My client there was a Turkish guy and when I arrived he said it would be worth my while if I got the job done double quick. The pay was the same regardless so I got down to it and worked 12-18 hours a day, 7 days a week for a month. Did a great job too. So the client drives me to the airport, walks through to security with me where he has to stop. We chat until my flight is called and a security guy is using a machine-gun to wave me through. Client shakes my hand and I feel a nice warm bundle of something pressed into my palm. He winks; "Here... great job... get yourself a nice drink on me..." I leave him there and walk round a corner - can't wait though... have to look... It's a teabag. Total Turkish bastard. Funny though.
(Wed 10th Sep 2008, 17:32, More)
The day I realised I could kill.
I did some contract work in Algeria few years back. My client there was a Turkish guy and when I arrived he said it would be worth my while if I got the job done double quick. The pay was the same regardless so I got down to it and worked 12-18 hours a day, 7 days a week for a month. Did a great job too. So the client drives me to the airport, walks through to security with me where he has to stop. We chat until my flight is called and a security guy is using a machine-gun to wave me through. Client shakes my hand and I feel a nice warm bundle of something pressed into my palm. He winks; "Here... great job... get yourself a nice drink on me..." I leave him there and walk round a corner - can't wait though... have to look... It's a teabag. Total Turkish bastard. Funny though.
(Wed 10th Sep 2008, 17:32, More)
» Pubs
Noxious Nigel
My girlfriend's brother Nigel can fart to order - silent but deadly every time. Christ knows what he eats. When a pub's a bit busy we send him in to locate a table where people are nearly finished. He loiters, drops a really rancid one and we wait for said table to vacate. Works every time.
(Thu 5th Feb 2009, 23:48, More)
Noxious Nigel
My girlfriend's brother Nigel can fart to order - silent but deadly every time. Christ knows what he eats. When a pub's a bit busy we send him in to locate a table where people are nearly finished. He loiters, drops a really rancid one and we wait for said table to vacate. Works every time.
(Thu 5th Feb 2009, 23:48, More)
» Blood
Bloody in Brixton
I'm on the P4 heading for Brixton tube, late for a meeting. Two stops before the tube, an old lady gets up as the bus lurches. Her fold-up seat folds (up) as she falls and gashes her shin really badly on a bolt sticking out from underneath the seat.
Blood dripping fast from the wound as I get to her and help her onto another seat. I take off my jacket (yes, Kenzo - so would you) and roll up shirtsleeves before lifting her leg and gently lay it horizontally. She is in shock at the sight of the wound and tries to get up - I hold her back and retrieve the leg from the floor again as the blood flows faster.
With the ambulance called we reach Brixton and I now have blood up to both elbows - really, a lot of blood, dark red, shiny, all over...
Paramedics board with copper. Cop asks me a few questions, even takes my mobile number, thanks me for helping and I start to get off the bus. No one has any tissues for me to mop up or seems to want to know, so I grab my jacket in my teeth and head into WH Smith for a bottle of water to rid myself of the copious gore. This is Brixton tube by the way, one of the most mental places in London - trust me.
The Smiths assistant looks up at wild-haired, sweaty man waving heavily bloodstained arms and making loud, guttural noises through the jacket hanging from his mouth, calls security guard who chucks me out of shop. Cop from bus now approaches, pushes me against a wall and calls for backup. What a goldfish-memoried wankpot he turned out to be.
(Tue 12th Aug 2008, 23:21, More)
Bloody in Brixton
I'm on the P4 heading for Brixton tube, late for a meeting. Two stops before the tube, an old lady gets up as the bus lurches. Her fold-up seat folds (up) as she falls and gashes her shin really badly on a bolt sticking out from underneath the seat.
Blood dripping fast from the wound as I get to her and help her onto another seat. I take off my jacket (yes, Kenzo - so would you) and roll up shirtsleeves before lifting her leg and gently lay it horizontally. She is in shock at the sight of the wound and tries to get up - I hold her back and retrieve the leg from the floor again as the blood flows faster.
With the ambulance called we reach Brixton and I now have blood up to both elbows - really, a lot of blood, dark red, shiny, all over...
Paramedics board with copper. Cop asks me a few questions, even takes my mobile number, thanks me for helping and I start to get off the bus. No one has any tissues for me to mop up or seems to want to know, so I grab my jacket in my teeth and head into WH Smith for a bottle of water to rid myself of the copious gore. This is Brixton tube by the way, one of the most mental places in London - trust me.
The Smiths assistant looks up at wild-haired, sweaty man waving heavily bloodstained arms and making loud, guttural noises through the jacket hanging from his mouth, calls security guard who chucks me out of shop. Cop from bus now approaches, pushes me against a wall and calls for backup. What a goldfish-memoried wankpot he turned out to be.
(Tue 12th Aug 2008, 23:21, More)
» Pubs
Dirty bitch
Bunch of Geordie builders adopted our S.London local - all a bit daft except for Vince, the respected leader of the group. Tone was the runt of the bunch - a really dim twat. When Vince's birthday came round 'the lads' got him a roly-polygram - big wobbly old stripper came to the pub, flashed her tits a bit, sat on his lap etc etc. Great night.
Following week was Tone's birthday and he was convinced they would give him the same treatment. In fact he went on about it all week.
Saturday night they were all in. We all bought Tone a drink - reluctantly - so he was pretty pissed when a portly middle-aged lady walked in wearing a soaking raincoat. She had got caught in a downpour, took shelter with a fruit juice and proceeded to play a fruit machine till the rain stopped.
After about five minutes of play, with Tone leering drunkenly at her and searching for any sign of stripper kit, she set all the lights on the machine off and had no idea what to do. She turned to Tone; "'Scuse me love, any idea what..."
Tone leapt backwards with a pirate-like 'Ahaargh!' that silenced the pub, so that the whole place heard him follow it up with "Yous can take yer sussies and saggy auld tits an fook right off ya dirty bitch!"
She burst into tears and fled the pub. 'Course by then everyone was wiping their eyes.
(Thu 5th Feb 2009, 23:50, More)
Dirty bitch
Bunch of Geordie builders adopted our S.London local - all a bit daft except for Vince, the respected leader of the group. Tone was the runt of the bunch - a really dim twat. When Vince's birthday came round 'the lads' got him a roly-polygram - big wobbly old stripper came to the pub, flashed her tits a bit, sat on his lap etc etc. Great night.
Following week was Tone's birthday and he was convinced they would give him the same treatment. In fact he went on about it all week.
Saturday night they were all in. We all bought Tone a drink - reluctantly - so he was pretty pissed when a portly middle-aged lady walked in wearing a soaking raincoat. She had got caught in a downpour, took shelter with a fruit juice and proceeded to play a fruit machine till the rain stopped.
After about five minutes of play, with Tone leering drunkenly at her and searching for any sign of stripper kit, she set all the lights on the machine off and had no idea what to do. She turned to Tone; "'Scuse me love, any idea what..."
Tone leapt backwards with a pirate-like 'Ahaargh!' that silenced the pub, so that the whole place heard him follow it up with "Yous can take yer sussies and saggy auld tits an fook right off ya dirty bitch!"
She burst into tears and fled the pub. 'Course by then everyone was wiping their eyes.
(Thu 5th Feb 2009, 23:50, More)